Whips & Chains
by ArthurRPer
Summary: Alfred's brief appointment with BDSM. UKUS. Minimal editing. Posted as played.
1. Chapter 1

**Whips & Chains  
CHAPTER 1**

**Authors Note: **A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.

"Master, Kirkland?" There was a timid knock at the door. Arthur's newest secretary poked her head in to survey the scene before fully stepping over the threshold. She was a hesitant, little thing - nothing like the professional mistresses that strolled from room to room beyond the front lobby. Her shyness was refreshing; something of a treat for Arthur to witness - Submissive.

"Your newest client has arrived. He is- has been prepped and is waiting in playroom #5. This one is aum...a...first-timer." Arthur allowed a daunting silence to fill the room as he finished reading a document of consent. He had been examining it before her interruption and planned to finish before she left. The woman squirmed. "…Thank you Hilary. You are excused."

Arthur sat comfortably for several moments after the door to his office was closed. He was in no hurry. Allowing his newest client to wait was all part of the game. Waiting would build tension. Yes, Mr. Kirkland had all the time in the world to slip out of formal wear and into 'business attire'. Arthur smiled to himself while attempting to picture the body that would be at his disposal for the better part of four hours.

Was his new client comfortably settling into his accommodations? Doubtful. The 'play room' was, after all, quite dark. Not pitch black, but it lacked sufficient light. #5 was only equipped with a lavender bulb which provided an eerie (albeit lovely) glow. The walls were chiseled stone -cold, black and smooth. Fastenings for cuffs were present. And a large, particularly threatening, metal table sat as the room's centerpiece. It was a dungeon; A sterile, modernly decorated, dungeon - The ideal setting for any masochist.

Alfred glanced as his smart phone one more time to make sure he was at the right place before pocketing the device. His blue eyes traveled up and down the street before returning to the building in front of him. His throat felt tight but he forced a deep breath of the cold London air down into his lungs before exhaling heavily, the warm breath misting in front of him.  
So this was it... it was his first time in London, and his first time ever entering such a place. The American glanced at his watch, he was a bit early, but better late than never. He tried to swallow his nerves.  
The blond walked up to the plain grey building and entered as smoothly as he could, the last thing he wanted to do was trip or something and pull attention to himself. Upon entering, the building was much better looking on the inside, the plain outer face hiding certain elegance. Tiled floors greeted his leather shoes and dim yet warm lights lit his path as he made his way to the small desk just a little ways in.  
"H-Hello?" Alfred hated the small stutter that accompanied his words as he addressed the brunette woman sitting at the desk. She was cute, slightly mousy and appeared a little meek, her bangs seeming more for something to hide behind rather than as a particular style. He would probably have attempted to flirt with her, had this been another place.

"Oh," She said lightly, looking up from whatever had been holding her attention on the computer in front of her. "Can I help you?" She smiled cutely, her faint welsh accent unfamiliar to Alfred, but he found it fetching anyways.

"Yes, I have an appointment." He kept his eyes on hers and smiled back, though his anxiety made his eyes want to wonder.  
"Alright," she nodded before turning back to her computer. After pushing a few keys she glanced back up at him. "Name?"  
"Alfred Jones."  
"Ah, yes, we have you right here." She clicked her mouse and typed a few things before standing up. The woman straightened her back and pulled her shirt back into place before coming out from behind the desk. She stood about a head shorter than Alfred. "If you'll follow me I will show you to your room." She smiled lightly before turning around.  
"Sure." Alfred followed her, though he paid attention to the way they went through the building he found the silence was only making him more uncomfortable. "So... I didn't catch your name?"

"It's Hilary." She glanced over her shoulder quickly, but kept walking.

"Can you tell me anything about the... person I will be seeing? There wasn't much on your website, not even a picture. I'm a bit curious."  
"Master Kirkland? He's well thought of here. His customers always leave happy." She laughed a bit, as though something about that sentence was funny. "Is this your first time in London?"

Alfred chuckled a bit himself. "Yeah, first time. It's different from the States, but I think I'll get the hang of it eventually."

Hilary stopped and pulled a door open before gesturing inside. "Here you are. I'll let Master Kirkland know that you are here. Just wait patiently."  
Alfred nodded his head as he went inside. "Thanks for your help." The woman just smiled before closing the door. It was dark in the room, a soft purple light the only thing to see by. He waited for a little, standing still while his eyes adjusted. The room wasn't something Alfred was used to, cuffs and things hanging from the walls, and a strangely intimidating table in the centre of the room, though he didn't really know what it was for.  
The blond man took another deep breath, before he started to fidget with the cuffs of his jacket. He wore a white button up, blue tie, tan slacks and brown leather shoes, all under a dark beige coat. He'd had no idea what sort of thing to wear, so he didn't bother to change after he got off work. Alfred had been transferred to the London branch of his company last month. Uprooted from his nice comfy life in New York to somewhere that was like home, but so different he knew it would take him a while to adjust. Every time he talked to someone they always seemed to look at him funny, his accent marking him as a clear stranger. Not to mention he had to take a taxi almost everywhere since he hadn't had time to practice driving on what he still called the wrong side of the road.

Alfred cleared his throat. His mind was wondering. He was tempted to sit down but the only options were the floor or that table and neither seemed appropriate. He looked to the door. How long was he going to have to wait? Not that he really knew what he was expecting specifically. He'd had an... Interest in this sort of thing for a while, but he'd never had the ability to really explore it. It wasn't exactly something the he would consider "normal". Still... with the stress of the move and having to deal with not only being in a completely new place, but not knowing anyone there... he felt maybe this is the time to try something reckless. Alfred shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his nerves starting to build again.

Alfred's waiting room would prove just as silent as it was cold. There was no intercom and no window to allow a glimpse of the outside world. The room's purpose was to gift solitary confinement during the anticipatory moments before meeting one's 'Master'. An occupant could listen with his entire being for days and hear nothing more than his own heartbeat. The surrounding stone walls were Alfred's only companions. They seemed come to life only to observe and readily echo back every movement. Every breath. Every thought. Seconds dragged; trying their best to imitate hours.

When a noise finally penetrated his chamber, it would seem_ too loud _- a welcome, but frightening interruption of internal thought. It had come from the (only) door. A rectangular, metal sheet had slid open near the doors bottom, allowing just enough space for a blindfold, a pen and a small note to slip though. Then, it closed. And Alfred was once again left with nothing but his own mental monologue. The note was composed of fine calligraphy. The ink was rich and the hand that had written it was confident. This was not a mass-produced piece of garbage meant for flocks of costumers. It was_ personal _- It had been written specifically for the occupant in room five.

_Sign below to signify you are a willing participant.  
Our session will end at half-passed midnight.  
Don the blindfold and knock when ready. _

Alfred stood in the room alone, still. It felt like ages. He was never a very patient person, but he did his best. He was here voluntarily, and he was paying for a service. He'd get what he came for... it just seemed he'd have to wait for it. Patiently, like the girl said. Even if that time seemed to just make him more and more nervous. What if he had been forgotten about? Or had he done something wrong already? Were they playing a trick on the poor stupid American who had wondered through their doors?

The grating sound of metal on metal shocked Alfred from his thoughts, an audible gasp coming from his lips has he turned towards the door as quickly as he could. A sliver of light, and then it was gone. The blond man hurried to the door and spotted three objects lying on the ground. He dropped to one knee to look at them. The first thing he grabbed was the note, the texture of the paper distinct from the plain old printer paper he was so used to touching. It was hard to read in the dim light, his eyes straining to make out the words written in beautiful lettering.  
Alfred swallowed nervously, his mouth going a bit dry. He grabbed the pen, the instrument cold in his slightly shaking hands, and signed his name in his best penmanship, for some reason feeling that his usual sloppy scrawl may disappoint someone with such lovely hand writing. He placed the two items neatly before the slot and grabbed the blind fold, the fabric soft in his hands. Alfred stood up and pulled his glasses from his face before folding them neatly and putting them in his inside breast pocket for safe keeping.  
The blond felt his heart speed up in his chest as he put the fabric over his eyes, the already dark room now completely gone from his sight. He tied a secure knot, making sure the fabric was tucked above his ears so it wouldn't droop. He reached out his left hand to find the cool stone wall, a feeling of helplessness threatening to over take him. His right hand found the door. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door twice before backing up a few steps using the wall as a guide.  
The sound of his own heart beating nervously filled Alfred's ears. He couldn't see. He'd been given a choice, and he'd willingly removed his own eye sight. He'd always harbored a secret phobia of going blind, his eyes bad since he was a child. Still, given the situation... he couldn't deny the excitement that was building right beside the fear.

Arthur enjoyed his profession. His work relieved him of stress that the 'real world' regularly placed upon his shoulders. Arthur's nerves were never as calm as when a client clutched at his legs and begged forgiveness. He felt no shame, no pity, and no anxiousness. To him, the ominous halls of his pleasure establishment represented the one thing he craved most - _**control**_. He gained no sexual pleasure from his duties. He had little ability to connect to others (physically or mentally) - which left him viewing his clientele as pawns. They were each a necessary task that would allow him peace at the end of the night. He acknowledged this fact dully while pressing through his costume closet to find tonight's attire. His own numb thoughts muted the metal twang of sliding hangers.

He would settle on black vinyl, solely for the way it reflected light over its ebony surface. Tonight, its appearance resonated with him. Arthur was a firm believer that one's attire directly affects their behavior. He was prepared to be everything his client needed. A 'first timer'? That meant one of two things. 1) The guest in room 5 was experimenting - confused and ashamed of his own fantasies _or _2) The guest was someone who had been aware and active for quite some time and was looking for a new level of thrill. Regardless of which situation he was dealing with, Arthur was aware that he needed clothing which emphasized his movements with sound. Thigh-high boots, string bikini brief, under-bust corset and a silky, tie. All black, all vinyl. The final touch was a pair of wrist gloves. His customer would not see him, nor feel the flesh of his fingertips. After all, this was a business...and Arthur was a professional.

Arthur would make a point of stopping by the front desk. "Hilary." The young woman jumped. She couldn't help but look over his attire with the shy awe of a virgin. "Y-yes, Mr. Kir-" "-Deliver a blindfold to Five." He reached over the desk, offering her the permission note he had written moments prior. "This as well. I am aware the proper documentation was sent out and returned. But I like to be sure my clients are_ truly_ prepared upon arrival. Especially if they've been made to wait." Arthur could have delivered the items himself, but felt no need to kneel when he had a perfectly able secretary to do such menial tasks for him. As she moved hurriedly around the desk to take her leave, he interrupted with another calling of her name. "Hilary. They will be needing _a pen_." She doubled back, offered an awkward smile and then rushed to do her boss's bidding. Arthur would follow with well-paced steps and patiently waited after the task had been completed.  
_  
...Knock. Knock. _

Arthur entered sharply. His heals clicked across the stone floor with enigmatic rhythm. There was an elegant scrape as he booted aside the paper and pen that had so considerately been left in his way. No sooner had his stepped halted, than the door behind him was pulled shut and dutifully latched by Hilary. "I am your Master." No polite introduction. No 'You may call me' or 'Good evening.' Arthur allowed a moment of silence before moving to circle his guest. "I would have liked to assume that you have been properly briefed, but my assistant is incompetent. One of her more important and, no doubt, neglected tasks was to inform you that we have a safe word. That word is Aqua." He paused behind Alfred, taking a moment to appreciate the man's broad shoulders and tall stature. "You, at least, seem competent enough to apply a blindfold. Would you say you're 'competent'?"

The sudden sound of the door opening, the pen skittering across the floor, and then of heels on stone made Alfred back up a few steps, though his hand remained on the wall to keep him steady. Still blindfolded he did his best to follow the other person by their sound, not hard considering not only were they talking, but they seemed to be wearing something that kind of squeaked.  
The high British accent coming from the other person, he could only assume Kirkland as he had introduced himself as his Master, was another layer of control on his mind. It was foreign, but sounded full of power, something Alfred was sure his voice would never posses. The safe word, aqua, that was quite important, though he admitted to himself that he was slightly insulted. Yeah, this was his first time, but he was pretty sure he could handle anything thrown at him. He'd played football when he was in high school and college; he'd both dealt and received a certain degree of pain.  
The voice, still so different from what Alfred was used to, moved around him and Alfred felt his muscles tense when he knew the person was behind him, but he remained standing straight up. The nervousness coiled in his belly like a serpent, intent of robbing him of what bravery he had left. Competent? "Depends on what I'm being asked to do, I guess." Alfred was proud that his voice didn't shake, though he knew his body language tended to give him away even when his words did not. He had a bad habit of hiding behind humor, something he had a sudden feeling wouldn't be all that great of an idea here.

No chuckle would rise from the figure at Alfred's back. Arthur was not amused. There was only a solemn silence before he continued his circling. The lithe blonde would stop dead ahead of his guest, observing the man's sturdy jaw and well-sculpted lips. What a shame that such a pleasant face had been cursed with such an unpleasant accent. Damned Yanks. Surely there was a dose of arrogance lying dormant ahead; the infamous American sense of entitlement. Arthur took personal pleasure in seeking out such behavior and curing it...permanently. "Strip."

No response to his little remark. Nothing. Alfred felt that serpent form into a cannon ball of worry heavy in his gut. Again the person, his Master he guessed, circled him before stopping in front of him. What he was waiting for, the blond had no clue. Silence was heavy in the air, almost like a weighted coat he could feel being laid across his shoulders.  
That single word echoed through the room, dominant, a no-questions-asked sort of tone. Alfred hesitated and then backed up so his spine pressed against the wall before bringing his arms up and out of his coat while he toed off his shoes, his socks coming off as well. His hands shook slightly as he tried to fold the bulky coat before setting it down on the floor next to him. He had a decent enough body, slightly tanned and well toned from regular visits to the gym, though he would admit to a little pudge tending to stick around his mid section. Probably all those hamburgers... still, it was not these things that made him nervous. He thought of the scar that marred his chest; the darkly puckered flesh that stretched from just below his right collar bone across his chest to stop just below his ribs on the left side. Alfred pulled at his tie now, the silken cloth coming undone easily as he tugged it from under his collar before dropping it on the pile of clothing pooling next to him.

Alfred took a deep breath. What did he care if some stranger saw him naked? Who knows, he may never come here again. There may be nothing to worry about. A feeling of vulnerability that he was not used to started to creep up into his mind as Alfred undid his belt, pausing to chuckle slightly as he remembered the pair of underwear he was wearing. As he dropped his pants boxer briefs patterned with Union Jacks, a joke-present from his brother Mathew, came into view. The blond man folded his pants as best he could and they too were dropped onto the growing pile.

The American brought his hand to his collar, pushing the buttons through the holes seemed to take more precision then he was used to. "Heh, look away if you have a weak stomach..." The paper pusher muttered. The scar stood out from his chest like a beacon always to remind him of his previous stupidity. Yet here he was, being stupid again. He pulled the shirt off quickly and tossed it into the pile, knowing he could barely fold those shirts when he could see and deciding not to give it a go without his sight.

The man stood, trying his best not to look as worried as he was. Standing around in one's boxers in a chilly room with a complete stranger had a tendency to make one a little... anxious.

Arthur watched patiently. His green eyes shifted from one article of clothing to the next, noting the lack of grace his American guest's fingers displayed. It was fortunate Alfred could not see, as his Master's expression slowly numbed to one of boredom. He had seen this a million times. It was always so tedious - starting a new game. Arthur looked towards the room's surgical table, absently nodding to himself. As Alfred began unfastening his belt, Arthur strolled away, approaching the table's edge and opening a hidden compartment on its underside. There was a wide variety of tools within the table's womb. He chose a basic riding crop, sliding its shape over his palm. In that moment, he was like a doctor admiring his tools before an operation. He traced the edge of the crop's head with his index finger before slowly meandering back to his disrobing client. It wasn't until a little chuckle escaped Alfred that his attention fully snapped up.

Arthur would silently sneer with a mix of disgust and humor as he noted the others choice of undergarment. Was this cheeky yank really attempting to insult Great Britain? Was he really so bold as to stand in Arthur's midst and consider his situation a joke? A lighthearted- 'Heh, look away if you have a weak stomach...' Arthur quirked a brow and uttered a singular, cynical comment: "Careful. You've almost caught my interest."

The scar revealed was beyond anything Arthur could have hoped for. He couldn't help the crooked grin that pulled at his mouth, nor the spark that ignited in his eyes. He was tempted to lick his lips, to reach for the jagged mark of past pain...but...such a childish reaction would have been unprofessional. "Am I supposed to be impressed? I've inflicted worse." Alfred would feel a stern touch of leather against his right shoulder. Arthur's crop trailed across the others clavicle before lifting away and returning with one, swift SNAP. Directly over the others scar. He wasn't going to coo or baby the man for enduring hardships. He wasn't going to gasp with shock or beg the other tell his story. No...Alfred would be treated as a fully functioning toy. Not a broken thrift-shop bobble.

"From this point on, I am 'Sir'. I like the title...and I expect to hear it a lot. I am your God until you leave this room. Your soul purpose is to please me. You will not think. You will do. You will prove you are worthy of my time. You will prove you are a /competent/ pet. Confirm that we're clear."

Alfred didn't even want to think about what sort of things could inflict a scar worse than the one he already bore. He felt his stomach muscles tighten at the touch of the leather instrument, before it cracked across his chest, an involuntary sound rising in his throat, but he smothered it. The flesh stung in remembered contact, it was a quickly fading pain though. The blond felt a rise of shame as the thought of "More." raced across his brain; the word rolling into his mind and threatened to take away his ability to think on his own. This... this was what he wanted: Both a challenge and a complete lack of control. He was a paper pusher, a number cruncher -All day long had had to be in perfect control. Be on time, stay late, get everything done, correct any mistakes made by others before they were sent up to upper management. Keeping track of everything... was exhausting. Lips parted and the words spoken were filled with surrender. "Yes sir."

"Good." The phrase was spoken through a smile. Alfred would feel his Master's leg angle behind his right knee. It was a slick contact, as though a snake was coiling his lower body. The vinyl of Arthur's boot emanated heat, hinting at the flesh restrained within its shape. It seemed so welcoming...right up until it crooked and delivered a piecing heel into the back of the Americans ankle. He would have no choice but lower, palms outstretched with the immanent fear of slamming to cold stone.

"You were inconsiderate with your waiver, leaving it directly in front of the door to be /trampled/ upon. You could have at least placed it in my hand." Arthur stared down at the other; voice suddenly chilled and chins held high. As his guest attempted to recover some dignity, the Englishman carelessly pressed the toe of his boot against Alfred's left buttock and kicked forward. "Retrieve it for me."

Should Alfred try to rise to his feet or even his knees, he would find himself slammed back to the stone via the heel of his Masters boot. "Stay down. Crawl." He could do little more than scramble blindly - providing a show for the humorless Brit beyond his vision. Once his fingertips finally stumbled upon aged parchment paper his efforts were met with a sharp, angry correction. "No. /With your mouth./"


	2. Chapter 2

**Whips & Chains  
CHAPTER 2  
**

**Authors Note: **A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.

Alfred felt control slipping, a weird sensation filling his body. The contact he felt, it was warm enough it had to be Kirkland's body, but it was covered by what he now knew to be vinyl. From the way it bent, it could only be a leg, wrapping around him. He didn't know what for, until the pain and the sudden drop, his knees making harsh contact that the stony ground.

The sensation traveled up his legs, like lightning up his bones until it was just a sharp ache in his knee caps. Again, surprise and pain, but he wouldn't make a sound. He'd keep what little composure he had left in this situation. Next came the reprimand. He sat there on his knees, his hands on the ground, and listened. He was half tempted to tell the other man that he had left it there because he had expected it to be retrieved through the slot, but held his tongue. Somehow he got the feeling that his unnecessary habit of filling silence with talk and humor would not go over well here.

The boot on his ass was unexpected, the shove even more so. The cold floor was not gentle to his skin, goose flesh popping up across most of his body in reaction. Shame curled inside him at the order that followed, and yet he was crawling as best has he could before he could think of it, his elbows, knees, and toes pushing himself across the floor. He moved to where he remembered the door was, the slightly dusty odor of the floor filling his nose. Alfred grasped about for the note, hoping that once he gave it to the other he would be allowed to stand again.

Alfred finally felt parchment, and gave a quiet sigh of relief. He felt a small smile tug the edges of his mouth, before that commanding voice split the silence again. /With your mouth/ with his mouth... like a dog. He was being made to be a dog. The blond man pulled himself closer to the note, his dry lips kissing the paper, before he mouthed a corner, trying not to touch it with his tongue lest he wet the paper. He finally got it between his lips, before he raised his head a bit, the paper held between his lips dropping slightly down towards the ground as though disgruntled at being picked up in such a matter. Alfred scooted back a few inches, before attempting to turn around, the smooth rock of the floor aiding him, though the cold penetrated deeper into his flesh. He moved back to where he knew Kirkland was. The man made sound whenever he moved, it was somewhat easy to track him. The American strained his neck up, both the smell of the man and the vinyl in front of him, an unfamiliar scent

"Slow. /Hardly/ obedient. Were you even trying?" Fabric creaked ahead. There was significant movement, but with no visual cues, it would prove impossible to decipher what Arthur was busying him with. Alfred only had darkness to base his judgment on. He couldn't know that his Master had bent to lift his blue tie from the floor. There was a sudden snap of tight fabric as the business accessory was pulled very strait...then...the soft, familiar feel of its length fell around Alfred's shoulders. The silken cloth tickled underneath Alfred's chin and across his chest. It was being tied. The hands that dabbled with its shape would have given the most adequate mother a run for her money in that moment. "Maybe the presence of leash will motivate you." With that, the softness of Arthur's hands vanished. He swiftly tightened Alfred's tie, making no effort to avoid delivering a jerk to the others neck.

Alfred listen closely as the other moved, heard the snap of his tie, though he didn't know what it was, but did his best to be still…it wasn't like he had a lot of practice moving like this; still he felt his shoulders drop a bit at the harsh words. The soft fabric of his tie, now that he recognized, dragging lightly across his skin was pleasant. He felt the other tie it around his throat, heard the words, and then the sharp tug that pressed the fabric across his wind pipe. A short, high pitched sound made his way out his mouth before he could silence it completely. A twitch in a place he did not expect to twitch at a time like this brought warmth to his cheeks that he only hoped would be hidden to by the blindfold. "S-sorry."

Arthur tilted his face to the left, mouth opening slightly as if to speak. He allowed a silent breath to slip over his own tongue and through his parted teeth. Instead of speaking, he only lifted his brows and observed with sensual interest. The American had released a very pleasant sound...a shame it had resulted in the paper slipping from his mouth. The little piece of parchment drifted to rest between Arthur's feet. He would allow his anger to rise then - it was that white heat in his gut, that wonderful broiling of his emotion that made his work euphoric. Here, within their chamber of stone, he could ignite and lash out like fire. It was not only accepted, but EXPECTED. "-Sorry? Sorry WHAT." The Brit began to twist the end of Alfred's tie around his palm as he demanded the appropriate answer. The motion reeled the other close. "Address me correctly or not at all."

Again, another embarrassing sound dripped from his lips, a betrayal of his will. He was pulled up, the shameful sensation growing as he felt the cloth tighten around his neck again. "Sorry Sir." He blurted. Unsure of if he wanted the other to forgive him or continue giving him that pressure around his neck, a slight light headed feeling beginning.

The silk surrounding Alfred's throat loosened slightly. Enough to allow breath, but not offering comfort. Though its hold on him would grow no tighter, it still served as an efficient leash - One that Arthur readily took advantage of. The Briton pulled upward, forcing his prey to rise to his knees. Alfred would feel the warmth of his Master's presence. His face was nearly pressed against Arthur's abdomen. "You dropped the waiver." Arthur's tone would prove alarmingly calm. Gloved fingers clamped around Alfred's chin, forcing his face upwards to spite blindness that rendered eye contact moot.

Arthur pressed one knee forward, placing it against his pet's belly. The act forced Alfred's lower body to retreat backwards and his back to arch in an uncomfortable position. He had to remain on his knees - it was crucial. It was an unspoken demand. He would stay where his tie had called him. But the farther Arthur's knee pressed forward, the farther Alfred's hips moved backwards. Soon pain would begin to warm his lower spine.

The American felt himself getting pulled up and moved to his knees hoping that was the right thing to do. The warmth of another was suddenly so close to him, his mind somehow rejecting that someone who seemed so cold would have body heat. Alfred realized his mistake as he was told, his hands started to move to search for the waiver, but the tight grip on his chin froze him, his lips parted silently. /Gloves.../

Alfred allowed his body to be manipulated, though he felt almost as though he had little choice. He was losing his sense of self the more this other person took control of him. He was moved into a position that he knew would be uncomfortable but he held it, the pressure of the tie and the others limb bending him and making hardly used muscles heat. The feelings... it was like the more he let go the better all of it felt. Pain became a sensation that made his body alive, being uncomfortable was a challenge he would bear for as long as he could. Alfred gritted his teeth.

"...You're quite useless..." Arthur commented absently. He pulled Arthur's tie in his left hand, assuring the others chest rested against the top of his vinyl-clad thigh. With his right hand, Arthur allowed the corner of his crop's head to caress the nape of Alfred's neck. The whip dipped along either side of the American's jaw before beginning a slow & gentle journey down the length of his spine. Arthur would ensure that his instrument barely touched the others flesh; that it glided with just enough pressure to spark hope for more. It was like a fly creeping down the stretch of Alfred's shape; A fly...or an_ ill-willed spider_.

Down, down, down it traveled. The crop carelessly crossed up and over the elastic waist line of its victim's boxers. It moved unabashedly over Alfred's tailbone. The weapon's motion was soothing; almost trustworthy if not for its ominous sense of direction. In spite of himself, Arthur relished the feeling of the others weight against him. Usually such sensations went unnoticed, by my, how the body kneeling below fit perfectly against his legs. Alfred was melting; growing softer and softer...puddling over Arthur while attempting to relax his aching muscles.

Kirkland felt a sting of embarrassment regarding his enjoyment of the situation. This was not meant to be pleasurable on his side. Sure, a brief thrill was allowed, but nothing to get attached to – nothing to crave later. He swallowed and barked and order at the other to clear his mind. "STRAITEN UP." Arthur's riding crop struck Alfred's backside with all the animosity of a cobra. It's lift and return was one, fluid motion. Its bite snapped to the core of its target like electricity through water.

The remark was like a stone skipping over the calm waters of Alfred's mind. The smooth pull forward, his body obeying without the need for thought, and then being allowed to rest against the man's legs, a soft sigh left his lips. Contact on his neck made the blond tilt his neck just a fraction, as though offering more skin to the other, but the teasing pressure continued on, trailing down his body softly. It felt good, the American felt his muscles starting to relax, even as the crop traveled south, the small voice of his consciousness was fading, giving way to a sense of calm the blond man had never experienced. Alfred didn't feel the need to talk, to do anything. His body wasn't his own anymore.

Pain, then an order, a short intake of air as a reaction, but already his body had moved in response. His spine was straight, shoulders back, his chest forward. Alfred looked up sightlessly, in the direction of where he thought Kirkland's face was. It felt like looking up at a king, or a god. His will had left his body and this man... his Master, had taken it.

Arthur's eyes skimmed over the others strait shoulders, noticing a fading tan that had once swept strongly over the man's upper body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kirkland toyed with notions of his clients outside life. _'He must enjoy the outdoors. Swimming, perhaps?' _Arthur was gifted with a brief image of Alfred running on the beach; Pressing through great waves of blue-green thoughts grew bitter as he realized he was beginning to think of the other as a human being. Surely, this wasn't someone worth knowing. So then, why did the tense body below cause heat to swell in Arthur's stomach? It was a new sensation - and not a particularly pleasant one.

Arthur made a point of silencing his thoughts once more. He distracted himself by slowly pressing the front of his shin to the others waiting groin. Even through his boot, he could feel the thick outline of submissive arousal. It was just starting to bloom, but it was there. It was acknowledged with a twisting of Arthur's shin - a cold, blank movement that conveyed anger. "What is this _disgusting _display? I did not authorize this...I gave you no such permission. You're no better than a bitch in heat." Arthur pressed the firm hilt of his riding crop vertically between the others buttocks. It was a militant gesture, devoid of hesitance or shame. The whips length would grind inward from tailbone to testicles - A cruel line that threatened to slice the American into halves.

Alfred kept himself straight; goose bumps on his legs from their continued contact with the cold floor no longer bothered him. Nothing bothered him anymore it seemed, as long as he did as he was told. Then pressure and he could not tell if he wanted it or not. The American fought to hold his hips still as the pressure twisted against him, a sharp gasp coming from him as a spike of arousal shot through him. Then shame and fear. He hadn't been given permission; his body was reacting without an order from the other. He felt the crop's sudden intrusion, his hips twitching forward in surprise which only made the pressure against his embarrassing reaction greater. Alfred felt light headed as though he was floating, the fear of disobeying tight in his mind, while the urge to obey without question took him fully. "Sorry Sir."

"Sorry is _not_ sufficient." The intrusion stifling Alfred's backside dragged upwards, then drove down again. It pressed harder against his flesh. _It bit_. "I want you to **admit **your shame." Arthur released the others tie. The relief Alfred was gifted with would prove brief. His Master's newly freed hand snapped clutch golden locks. It pulled them roughly, forcing Alfred's head to crane backwards. Without the support of the tie, Alfred was no longer being pulled forward. His body would be left to balance...or fall back completely upon the mercy of the whip between his cheeks. "Admit to me that you _love _it..."

Alfred could feel his heart beating in his chest, the pain from the crop was wonderful in a way he never thought possible. Then the fingers in his hair, pulling cruelly, and he felt himself grow even more aroused. The sensation sang across his nerves, making his body feel like every touch was made of electricity. Muscles in his back strained to keep him upright, but he'd stay that way as long as required. Still, shame curled in his belly along with the pleasure. He did... he did... the words came forth like a confession, a quiet sob. "...I love it. Sir."

It was like someone had signed the death warrant of everything Alfred held to be normal. What kind of person was he to not only seek out this kind of attention... but then to enjoy it?

'...I love it, Sir.' Alfred's hesitance irritated Arthur. It signaled that the American was a coward. Arthur hated cowards. A brief pause before admission was as potent as a lie. It was disgusting, really - that this handsome youth was still in denial. How long had he refused to give in to his primal needs? What a waste. "**Repeat it!** _Mean it._ Open your mouth when you speak. Bare your tongue and teeth to me. Cry...like the mutt you _are._ I want to see down your throat and into your heart as you confess." The fingers clutching Alfred's hair locked with permanence beyond their delicate appearance. They delivered sharp threads of pain to the others skull while issuing a particularly vicious pull.

_I'll help you._

_I'll teach you to embrace yourself._

_Here you will be who you are. _

Alfred's forced position was...admittedly...pleasant to observe. The bending of his spine had given his pelvis no choice but to jut forward. The constrictive condition of his mocking boxers left little to the imagination. His erection was doing its best to free itself. A bead of precum had soaked through, moistening a small area - mid center a Union Jack. The sight served as a compliment. Alfred had come to the right place and was receiving what he had longed for. Arthur brought his face close, leaning down to gift his servant with a nearer presence. Their noses touched. Their breath mingled. "Come now, pet. I don't have all night."


	3. Chapter 3

**Whips & Chains****  
****CHAPTER 3**

**Authors Note: **A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.

Every tug on Alfred's hair felt like Kirkland was tugging on something /else/. He had admitted it, the words still sour on his tongue, but it wasn't enough. These stone walls held the secrets of so many others before him. The American half feared they would heat from his shame as his face did. There, in that place, being held in such a way as he had never before experienced. It felt like dying, like flying... it was like falling. His breath shook as his heart beat a slow but strong beat against his ribs. He felt his abdominals begin to strain, and yet he had no real desire to move. As long as he was wanted here, he would stay here.

Still... that small kernel of pride left in him... did he really want to admit this? It was one thing to do something, to want something... another thing entirely to speak of it. Almost as though putting it into words made it somehow more real. It was undeniable that he was, in some twisted fashion, enjoying himself. The reaction his lower body was having was more than proof of that.

Then... Kirkland was closer than he had been the whole time. Something about how near he could feel the other's face... it was more intimate than when he had allowed Alfred to lean on him. As though if he moved his lips just right they would skim the others... just barely. Not that he wanted to kiss the man; it was just a stray thought. Warm breath on his face pulled Alfred from his mind again, the restraints laid there by Kirkland snug once more. The kindest thing the other had said to him all night, the word pet causing a hot twist in the base of his gut he wasn't willing to analyze just yet. The words were squeezing out of his lips before he could stop them. "Please, I love it. I'm so sorry Sir, I love it." He didn't know why he was begging, or apologizing.

He didn't understand any of this, yet his mind latched onto that word like a prayer. "Please." Alfred didn't know what he was asking for. He just hoped the Brit in control of him did.

"'Please' what?" Arthur antagonized with suave interest. The slightest hint of a smirk tugged the right corner of his lips and he let out a playful hum as the whip between Alfred's legs began to slide back and forth. The crop rode along the seam of Alfred's body. It nipped at his testicles and underside without remorse. In spite of the discomfort it delivered, the instruments movement would prove oddly sensual. Its pace was deviously slow. Each inch it assaulted would have no choice but to acknowledge it as a lover. Kirkland's rhythm would serve to emphasize how private and intimate their surroundings were.

Arthur found himself tempted by the others sculpted features. For a moment, he was hypnotized; wanting nothing more than to smooth the tip of his own nose up and down the American's. The Yank had a pleasant smell - one of paper, pencil shavings...and something distant; something faded and long forgotten - Wheat perhaps. Such a scent would suit him. A hidden spark of something rugged underneath a sheet of societies demands. It was attractive. Or maybe, it was the scent of submission that was proving alluring. Arthur inhaled. Deeply…slowly. And having had his fill, he reclaimed his professional demeanor. He swiftly withdrew his crop, careless of the burning path it left in its wake.

Alfred gasped as he felt the movements of the crop against him. He was by no means a virgin, but he'd never experienced sensations like this before. He'd never been touched like this before. Every moment of the pain heightened friction was wonderful. "Please..." he breathed the word. Felt it leave him like a weight. He'd never been the type to beg before, always kept a fast grip on that ever so important pride of his. This though... was letting go. The treatment was giving the blond man a sense of freedom he had never known. Here, now, this was what he was. A man on his knees. A dog for another. The American felt the crop leave him, felt the intimacy of the previous moment fade. "Please don't stop." He didn't mean the crop specifically, though that had been good all on its own. Alfred just felt that if he was forced to leave and return to his damn office and that god forsaken paperwork... he'd always long to come back to this.

Without issuing a warning, Arthur released the others hair. He would step back and allow the chill of the room to embrace his client. And oh, how it would. Emptiness would bloom where there had once been pain and exalted heat. It would swoop in like a cold wind. Kirkland only watched, waiting to see if the other would recover...or fall backwards.

Just like that... everything that had been was gone. Alfred held the position he had been left in, though his muscles were beginning to tremble. He'd done something wrong... but he wouldn't do it again. He hadn't been told to move. Sightless, the cold seemed harsher than it had been now that he had the warmth of the other to compare it to. He focused on breathing, but knew he couldn't hold that position by himself for long. It was either fall backwards or lean forward and sit on his knees... but he hadn't been told to move. He hadn't been told to move. It became his mantra. He wouldn't mess up again. He hadn't been told to move.

Arthur observed with a stillness most statues would envy. He welcomed the silence that filled their waiting period, quirking a brow...slightly impressed by the others devotion. 'Dutiful.' It would take longer than expected for the American's muscles to quiver. Waiting would prove suspenseful - like devouring an exceptional film. Edge-of-ones-seat-entertainment. Upon noticing the start of tremble, Arthur felt satisfied. More-so than he had in a long while. He idly began to tap his crop over the open palm of his left hand. He casually paced left...then right. This was a game. His pet could choose when it ended, but not /how/.

Arthur would eventually reach to pull a chair from the corner of the room. Its legs clawed across the stone floor before coming to rest two or three feet ahead of Alfred. Kirkland creaked while lowering to sit atop his throne. He crossed his legs dominantly and continued to watch his 'pet' struggle with obedience. 'Pet' - a funny word. One he hardly used with clients. One that had become an unconscious mark of favoritism. Alfred was slowly giving in - wilting like a flower in November. As his head began to sink, the flat edge of his Master's crop caught his chin in an almost loving fashion. It gave him a moment of support. No more. No less.

Arthur...was becoming helplessly fascinated...

Alfred's ears followed the sound of the other moving, a welcome distraction from his now quaking muscles. That position was not easy to hold, both his legs and stomach were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The scrap of furniture moving was loud in the stone room. Alfred felt himself start to droop... and then the quick kiss of the crop on his chin. "S-sir...?" He couldn't hold much longer... his only option was to ask for permission to move, before his gave out.

A brush of air burst passed Alfred's cheek, followed by sharp pain. Arthur's crop would leave a strait, red mark across the American's face. Burning. Stinging. "Who gave you permission to speak." That simple 'Sir' had snapped Arthur from his thoughts. It had cut his moment of admiration short. Fortunately, the weak wobble of his victim's recover would sooth his irritation. His next words would ring soft and sweet as honey. "...Remove your union-jacks."

Alfred's head moved sharply to the side form the hit, a grunt of pain froze in his throat. He lost his balance, but corrected so he was sitting now. He lowered his head. Still, it would seem he still could not be good enough. The American stiffened at the order. Remove his underwear...? But he was... he was pretty sure it was already obvious... Shaking with anxiety, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers. He couldn't disobey, not again. The blindfolded man began to roll the fabric down his body, shifting his weight as he needed to, figuring it was better to stay on the ground rather than stand to remove his last bit of clothing. The cold air greeted his newly revealed flesh, but Alfred did his best not to let it bother him. As soon as he got the boxers off, he brought his knees up in an attempt to cover himself at least a bit, while folding the fabric as best as he could before setting it on the floor next to him, unsure of what to do. He couldn't stop the slight shivers that ran across his body now. Alfred felt naked in more ways than one, sitting on the ground before that commanding Brit.

Arthur's goal was to make Alfred -psychologically- naked. /Being/ undressed meant nothing if the American couldn't feel the ominous chill of being indisposed. Emotional nudity was more attractive than physically nudity could ever hope to be. Kirkland stared quietly at the others body. He studied the strangers intimate shape for a time, but continuously returned to the man's lips; Watching for a quiver. Arthur extended one leg and, with the tip of his boot, kicked aside the others neatly-folded boxers. Why did his client do that? Fold everything...? What semblance of control could he possibly hope to achieve by being tidy?

Alfred would feel the cold bottom of his Masters boot press to his chest. It struck mid-center, strait between his pectorals. The force delivered was notable. It seemed to force an echoing 'thunk' through the center of Alfred's sternum. Still, it had been just hard enough to allow him his kneeling balance. Perfect. Calculated. Arthur drew his arching footwear upwards. He dove his heal forward upon reaching the dip of Alfred's clavicle, exercising a bit more pressure while his toe threatened the boy's neck. "All fours."

The room was cold and quiet, and it was making Alfred more uncomfortable that he would like to admit. Probably what it was meant to do. He tried to cover himself a bit, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He heard his boxers get moved, probably got kicked he would guess since he hadn't heard the other stand up. He heard a slight squeak from the other, and then the kick hit him in the chest, luckily too high to have winded him. Alfred's hands went back instinctually and he stopped himself from falling backwards. Then the pressure from the other, this time from what he assumed was the heel of his shoe, right by his throat... he felt his breathing start to shake, he was nervous... again. "All fours." That commanding tone again. That accent making all the consonants sharp, unlike in America where people do their best to roll all the sounds together. Alfred straightened a bit, and then backed up a little before bending over; his palms flat on the ground... it made him feel like his ass was on display of all things. Certainly not a feeling he was used to.

"Closer."

In spite of a thick swallow, Arthur's tone was flawless. It was a good thing his commands came so naturally, or he may have found his words thick with breathless lust. Something about the others drop had warmed his abdomen. Internally, he felt ablaze. Kirkland was more 'comfortable' with the situation than any professional would have cared to admit.

As soon as the American crawled close enough, he was reunited with the others boot. This time, it trailed its gleaming toe over his Adam's apple. Warmth would eventually press to Alfred's cheek - no doubt the side of Arthur's vinyl-embraced foot. Its hover was gentle, and yet...invasive. "Pleasure my boot. With your tongue."


	4. Chapter 4

**Whips & Chains****  
****CHAPTER 4**

**Authors Note: **A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.

The blindfolded man moved towards the voice cautiously, until the touch of the other stopped him, again he was certain it was a boot. The taunted graze across his neck excited him, again he felt sensitive there for no reason he could name. He felt the smooth texture across his cheek and rubbed his cheek against it slightly, enjoying the feeling. Kirkland's voice cut through him, and the order given made a spike of warmth twist in his gut like a knife. Alfred turned his head slightly and pressed a soft kiss to the boot, his dry lips sticking to it for a moment before he pulled back. His tongue slid from the confines of his mouth to stroke the sleek surface of the boot, a small, almost silent, whine in that back of his throat.

Alfred's compliance was shocking. Usually a new submissive would hesitate for longer periods of time. They would call out their safe word or try to argue. But this one was a /natural/. He lived to serve. He gave Arthur every opportunity to take advantage. Kirkland felt himself grit his teeth, attempting to stifle the harsh breath inward. He couldn't have imagined a nicer shade of pink to slip from the others mouth. Its vibrant hue was lovely against the reflective vinyl of Arthur's boot. The Briton's foot twitched of its own accord; awakened by the feel of heat and promise of moisture outside its Vinyl casing. A shame it's lover's saliva could only streak the black confines that now seemed…troublesome. The Englishman maneuvered his boot gracefully in Alfred's grasp. He turned it accordingly - staining every inch of its toe in kisses and licks. Once it glimmered, Arthur pressed the very tip to the center of his slave's mouth and pushed inward. "You can do better."

Alfred damn near made love to that boot with his lips and tongue. He'd been called a boot licker at work... God if only he'd found this set of boots quicker. His tongue followed the fluid curves of the material, wetting it and lavishing it with as much attention as he could. The American let his jaw relax as he opened his mouth and took the tip of the boot between his lips, a lewd sound coming to great the invasion. He didn't know why he was reacting this way, he should be ashamed, he should hate this, but he wasn't. His body's reaction to the treatment was proof enough of that.

Arthur couldn't help but smile as the other mewed. Alfred /had/ done better. Sadly, no verbal praise would acknowledge the American's efforts. Arthur simply moved his free foot over the man's groin. He trapped a pleading erection in the space between his heel and out-sole. "...If you're going to make noise - /Make Noise/. Otherwise, remain silent." With that, he delivered a slow grind atop Alfred's genitals.

Alfred hardly heard the tell tale sound of the others movement but the pressure of the boot on his prick instantly had his attention. He felt his hips twitch forward. A small, wet, pop was heard as the American's lips left the boot for a moment, a deep gasping moan coming from him as his Master twisted a heel against him. His hands practically spammed on the ground beside him with the urge to touch... but he hadn't been told to touch, simply to choose between silence and letting those damning noises out. His lips found the boot in front of him quickly, kissing the toe again with seeming reverence.

Ah, another vinyl kiss. And then - It would be impossible to tell if Alfred's sudden lap up Arthur's shin was caused by shock or excitement. The movement had seemed desperate to Arthur; Desperate, but alluring. He made no protest as the yank bathed the length of his thigh-high with hurried laps and nips. "What." Arthur demanded dryly, "If you like it say so. Beg for more. Like a good /dog/." The grind of Alfred's pelvis stilled, then grew light. The heel hovered.

Alfred felt himself moving up the length of the boot, before he could think about it; delicately moving his teeth across the slick surface along with his tongue and lips. Still, he kept his hands on the floor, no matter how much he longed to touch the other. It felt so much better than anything he had ever put his mouth too, his previous girlfriend's included. It was like he couldn't help himself. The pressure on his groin was tantalizing, just enough to make his hips quake, the loss of it was harsh. "Please. More. I like it." Alfred felt like his brain was in a fuzz, if the other asked him a math question he'd be screwed... but begging? Again that hard warmth in his gut made its self known, almost pulsing inside. Begging... that he could do. "Please, please. I love it. Please give me more." Between the words his lips went back to the seamless surface of the boot, as though he couldn't stand to be without the contact.

The heat of Arthur's boot escalated as Alfred reached higher sections of its surface. Regardless of the attention bestowed, it did not flinch or recoil. It remained still - like a thick serpent waiting to strike. "It sounds as if you're demanding more from me. Not begging for it. I don't give into demands." The pressure lifted completely. "What you want is /filthy./ Use filthy words to ask for it."

Alfred pulled back a slight amount, before putting his cheek against the side of the boot for a moment; he guessed he was a bit below mid thigh. He didn't know how... "Please... please let me clean your boots for you Sir. They must be dirty from touching me..." He could only hope that was enough... but he had a sinking feeling in his guts regardless.

Arthur was disgusted. The sneer on his face would be reflected in his voice as he spoke. "A pitiful whisper? Surely the pleasure I've offered you is worth more." An eternity of silence seemed to pass in the seconds it took for him to collect his anger. With alarming speed (and no warning), Kirkland withdrew. The thigh that had once warmly sheltered Alfred's face was replaced with the bone-shattering cruelty of a striking knee. It accosted the American's jaw with enough force to send him sprawling sideways. The world would ring, momentarily muting any footsteps that may have given away Arthur's whereabouts. Assuming...there had been footsteps. He was so swift - so abrupt with his punishment that Alfred would feel a metal collar fastening above his throat before he was fully aware of what had happened.

Kirkland's retort was stinging, but not so much as the feeling of that covered leg pulling away. Pain blossomed across the side of Alfred's face with shocking force and the hit sent him back, his spine colliding with the ground. It had been ages since he'd been hit, much less in the face, his hands went up to cradle the aching wound that would surely bruise... but then the pressure, and the feel of cold metal enclosed his neck. The sensation of it sent a smaller jolt down to his still straining manhood. He had the mind to feel somewhat ashamed that even though he'd just been hit in the face hard enough to send him backwards... that his arousal was still there. Alfred still felt the throbbing pain on his cheek and jaw... but he didn't dare move. Not when he had so clearly offended the other. He laid there, sprawled out flat on the floor like a fool before the other.

A metallic buckling sound would echo in Alfred's ears as the collar was appropriately fastened. It was tested with a tug from somewhere unseen - a leash perhaps? Though it felt too light to be weighed down with a thick strap of leather. The tickling of string harassed Alfred's abdomen before a creak of vinyl announced his Master's intention to straddle.

Arthur paid no attention to his own thighs as they swung over his victims body and seeped warmth into the American's ribs. For now, his sitting position was little more than a convenient cage. The Englishman's back was turned to Alfred's face as he reached unabashedly to pinch the sex ahead with his thumb and index finger. The gesture served only to hold its thick shape in place as he closed a small, metal ring just below its blushing head. The device would prove cold...and tight. A connection between the collar and the ring would be made evident immediately. A thin, silver string that would not allow the American's upper body to move without tugging at his lower parts...No sooner had it been adorned, and then Alfred's Master stood and moved off of him. Footsteps clacked to wait on either side of the submissive face.

High, high above.


	5. Chapter 5

**Whips & Chains****  
****CHAPTER 5**

**Authors Note: **A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.

The tug on Alfred's neck was welcome, much kinder than the previous contact. Soft contact across his stomach made the muscles jump beneath the skin, the ticking contact making each abdominal dance. Than the other was on top of him, the length of his thighs pressed against the sides of the American's body felt wonderful, but he had to stop himself from bucking when he felt the light, yet firm grip of the other's fingers on his length. A small whine came from his throat at the feel of the chilled and confining pressure just below his cockhead. Just as soon has it had started the feel of the other was gone. Footsteps echoing the space now present between them. Alfred continued lying on the ground, the image of those poor naked women they serve sushi on suddenly in the front of his mind. He did feel on display... the blond licked his lips nervously, but did his best to remain still.

Arthur's attire let out an ominous squeak as he crouched just above the others head. He had little to say now; Content on watching his victim writhe with depraved pleasure. The Brit touched his own face absently before extending his right hand to caress Alfred's chest. His gloved touch traced Alfred from navel to nipple. From collarbone to chin. It opened to grasp both sides of Alfred's jaw, and then massaged its fingers shut until pinching the tip of his pet's chin. Two fingers pressed down over Alfred's lips. They mimicked a kiss. They maneuvered with the grace of a mouth - 'nipping' Alfred's top lip. Then bottom lip. Pressing in, dragging out.

The American both felt and heard the other man move closer. The touch of those gloved hands again made Alfred squirm, but as they traveled on, almost exploring his skin, he felt himself beginning to relax again. It almost felt as if he would sink into the earth if not for the anchoring touch of the other. Pressure on his lips was pleasant. And he felt himself pursing in response to what he knew was the hand of the Brit. His mouth opened slightly for Arthur. It felt so much like a kiss he found himself playing as though it was. The talented dance of fingers across the sensitive skin of his mouth was more than welcome.

Arthur smiled with a more gentle expression than he was used to. It was not a conscious reaction. He was thoroughly enjoying his power. His fingers played accordingly - pretending to be an affectionate and talented lover. He even went as far as to drag his slick digits across the others mouth and over one cheek, delivering a gentle peck to Alfred's whip welt before returning to the American's eager cavern. He gradually forced his fingers into the others sweltering heat. His gloved fingers brushed over tongue and teeth alike.

Those fingers drifted across his face, across where the whip had hit him. A light hot pain was still there, and the touch aggravated it slightly, but he wouldn't have asked the other to stop even if his mouth was his own. Alfred opened his mouth more to accommodate the intruding fingers, his tongue sliding over them gently. He couldn't describe how it felt, just that it was intimate and good.

"Suck." Arthur commanded simply. His digits dove deep, threatening to impale the back of his pet's throat. "-Until I tell you to stop." As Alfred obliged, Arthur allowed his fingertips to press to the roof of the American's mouth. He watched, savoring the sexual movements of Alfred's throat and tongue. And just as he began to feel satisfied, he quelled further desire by withdrawing his hand several centimeters - forcing Alfred to reach with his face. The tall blonde would quickly realize that this requirement put notable strain on his manhood.

Alfred took the directive in stride, his lips tightening around the fingers in his mouth. He sucked and licked them as best he could, and then they went deeper into his throat. He had to work on not gagging, but for once all that time he spent shoving food down his gullet when he was younger came in handy. The American swallowed around the digits and kept sucking as he was told. The hand started to move away and Alfred did his best to follow it, trying to keep to his orders, but the movement of his neck led to chain connecting the collar to the ring around him... the tug made another noise come from his occupied mouth. Still he kept sucking, though the pressure he was feeling was rather distracting.

Arthur's fingers were not secretive with their intent. They figuratively fucked his client's mouth, moving in and out, and trailing saliva over Alfred's lips. They tickled the top of the American's mouth and placed pressure on his tongue. He twitched his fingers in a manner that mimicked the throbbing of male anatomy.

The more greedily Alfred sucked, the farther the others fingers seemed to move away. They always dangled just out of reach, beckoning. They rewarded every effort with sexual mockery - giving the American a taste of what it would be like to please a man orally. Just a taste. A tease.

With each inch they retreated, Alfred would test his threshold for pain. The ring around his sex grew tighter and pulled harshly. It threatened to cut into the bottom of his blushing head as it began to reach the epitome of its allowance. "Prove yourself a good pet. Show me that you prefer my pleasure over your own comfort."

Alfred kept sucking, his tongue dancing around the fingers in his mouth, the skin of the other shielded from him by slick vinyl. A trail of saliva ran sloppily down his cheek from his mouth as he continued sucking. Every time those fingers moved away from him, he greedily tried to follow, though the pain from the ring around him grew. It felt like his brain was in a haze. He knew the action Arthur was mimicking. The American had selected a male Master when making his appointment, not because of any experience with men, but simply because he figured he could bow more easily to a man then a woman. He was a little sexist, he knew it, but in this situation he had just felt a masculine presence was more agreeable. Now though, as his dick jumped with every word from the other, he knew it wouldn't matter. For this person... he'd do whatever was asked. Alfred clamped his reddened lips around the fingers of the man and continued to do as he was told, almost with a sense of desperation.

Arthur was determined to make the other cry. Only then could he be certain that Alfred had, in a manner of speaking, 'climaxed'. He had come to expel emotion, hadn't he? Not necessarily to cum...but to experience something more? "My knuckles are running dry." The Brit commented with dissatisfaction. He trailed his fingers over Alfred's upper lip and towards his well-shaped nose. The American would have no choice but to arch his neck back. If he wanted to reach this time, he would have to hurt himself. Not severely enough to need medical attention - but enough to leave bruises around his masculine neck and pulsing sex. Perhaps circular slices the width of paper-cuts.

The American's lips tried to follow Arthur's fingers, but as he did, he felt the pain increase; it broke through the fuzz of his mind. Alfred's neck strained, his breathing was rough, and God it hurt. He'd never experienced pain in such a sensitive place. He felt his body spasming from it, the muscles in his legs tensing and relaxing over and over, his dull finger nails scratching at the ground. A deep breath filled the blonde's lungs, before he did his best to reach his Master's fingers again. He pulled his elbows in a bit to raise his torso, and arched his neck. A pained noise come from his throat as he did his best to get to Kirkland's taunting appendages, finger tips still around his upper lip. The pain from his neck and his aching prick were erasing his thoughts of any other sensation. The noise that was escaping him was shameful, a begging mewl of "please, please" because fuck it hurt. Alfred didn't know how much he could take. He reached out with his tongue, still intent on following orders...

Arthur watched; An apathetic mask plastered over his features. He was secretly astounded by the others determination. Almost proud. It was truly a beautiful display - one that reflected the exact sort of loyalty any self-respecting sadist hoped to find in a partner. It was stunning. So much, in fact that the Englishman had to continuously remind himself that he was /working/. This was his job and below was a /client./ Somewhere in the pit of what he considered his 'heart' he felt as though they had known each-other a long, long time and that, if he so desired, he could bed the boy writhing on the floor without consequence. Ludicrous thought, of course. Nothing would bloom of tonight's session.

"Please what. Tell me what you want."


	6. Chapter 6

**Whips & Chains****  
****CHAPTER 6**

**Authors Note: **A role-play between my favorite Alfred Jones and I. Posted exactly as it was originally written for your enjoyment (and scrutiny.) It is a completed RP, but uploading all of the chapters will take me some time. Thank you for reading.

Alfred continued to pull towards the other, intent on doing as he was told, but the feeling of the ring cutting into him was holding him back. He wanted to push through it, wanted to do anything the other asked of him... but he couldn't get to those damning fingers. "Please... I- just... I need..." A frustrated groan left his lips, shameful... he swallowed down his nervousness and moved himself up farther still, his lips reaching the tips of the Englishman's fingers, he had to fight his urge to bite. Pain grew more prevalent, and he felt a sting in his eyes, he was more glad than ever for that blindfold. "Y-your orders..."

Ah, there it was: The lovely tremble of voice that indicated tears. Arthur knew the beautiful bells of pain well. He recognized the sticky, seeping ache in one's throat, the liquid heat flooding along the bottom of one's eyes, the knot in one's stomach. He almost envied it. His free hand moved to rest over Alfred's blind fold, smashing any tears that may have welled. It was a gentle touch to spite the situation - palm overlapping onto the American's cheek, fingers crossing the bridge of his nose. It put pressure on his forehead, forcing him to arch further. Surely, this would be his breaking point.

"Cry."

The feel of the other's hand across his face, his eyes, was calming, steadying. His throat still felt tight though, swallowing felt like moving boulders. Then that gentle pressure on his forehead forcing his neck to bend further, the harsh metal would surly leave marks on his neck, but for the life of him all he could feel was that ring around his sex. Alfred felt his breath leave him in a rush, barely a hint of voice upon the air, before his teeth sank into his bottom lip. It had been an order, and yet seemed to be the one that was hardest for his mind to accept, while his body complied. A sound that was hard to label as pain or relief broke from his lips and he could feel the shaking in his chest as small tears left his eyes, hopefully being sucked up by the blindfold before they could streak shamefully down his cheeks.

Above, Arthur let out a sound that echoed more pleasure than it should have. It wasn't quite a sigh, wasn't quite a moan, wasn't quite a clearing of throat. It was all three and it ached of satisfaction. It mimicked the noise that a refined gentleman may make during ejaculation.

The Englishman couldn't help but smooth his gloved fingers down the others cheek, smearing a solitary tear that had escaped from its prison. The fingers that had once lingered over Alfred's lips withdrew, placing themselves against the side of his neck and leaving a line of saliva in their wake as they slithered down towards the Americans shoulders.

"Good." A simple word, but one that would mean the world to his p-client. Alfred would feel his body pressed back to the floor. His face was allowed to drop - his back was forced to relax. Hands roamed carefully over his heaving pectorals, intent on tickling his ribcage. Arthur traced either side of Alfred's hips before taking the liberty of caressing the underside of the American's manhood. He would release the ring with a single mechanical click. Somehow linked, the collar around Alfred's throat fell open as well.

The blond man could still feel himself quaking; it felt like his lungs were twitching. The sensation of the other softly touching his face, and then moving to his neck was warm, even though the gloves. "Good." That simple word... it was the first time Alfred felt he had truly pleased Kirkland, and that did feel /good/. His body felt like jelly as the other moved it, he didn't question for a moment. Being allowed to relax felt wonderful, though he could still feel his insides knotted and though the pressure was lessened, the equipment he was wearing was still uncomfortable. Alfred gasped a bit at the touch to his sore sex. He hadn't been expecting it. Upon release, he felt a slight loss at the collar, but the feeling of that cold air on his now aching dick was enough to making him gasp out again, a higher pitched sound in his throat. It hurt, a pulsing pain that was less from the ring and more from passion.

The same hand that had released Alfred of his restraints would sooth the wounds inflicted. It enclosed around the American's muscle, squeezing gently and slowly herding all pressure to its tip. Arthur' green eyes fixated on what he was doing. His face held a soft concentration as he admired his tool's destruction. The American was well-endowed. It was hard not to admire the boy's body for what it was.

Arthur strategically allowed his thumb to press over an underside vein. His client was about to be drained of all emotional chaos. Regardless of what parts of him it had pooled in, it would be drawn to the tip of his burning phallus. It would be at the command of his Master. The hand gripping him tightened perfectly.

"Let it out."

Alfred felt himself moan before he even had time to think. The hand on him was more than he could bare. This whole time, he'd been so pent up in so many different ways; he didn't think this one would be bothered with. He couldn't imagine the commanding person he had been sharing this room with doing what he was doing. His hands came up, but stopped above his hips, his fingers curling and twitching as he fought not to let his body buck into that hand that was touching him so masterfully. "S-sir." He should feel pathetic, moaning out the way he was, but it felt too good to stop. He could already feel that burning coil in his stomach winding tight, he was already so close, his body aching for release. The other's words washed over him and he could only hope that this was indeed an order to do what his body was going to do regardless. The tightening of his hand was enough. Alfred's hands flew to his face, almost as though he was trying to hide himself from what his body was doing. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him, a throbbing pulsing sensation that made every mark, every injury shout out. The pain riding the pleasure only heightened the experience, making it seem to last longer than it ever had before. It was better than it ever had been before. The sounds coming from him were lewd and if he'd had any mind he would have covered his mouth, but he was too far gone for rational thought. All too soon, Alfred felt it begin to fade, his body felt boneless even as he gulped in air.

Arthur's hand never wavered. It readily absorbed every pulse. He watched quietly as semen spurted forth and oozed over the creases in his gloves. So disgusting...the human body was disgusting. How else could sex be tolerated if not excused as an emotional response? Arthur was /milking/ the other of pain. And here it was...its true form slick and hot. Running down the back of his hand and dripping across the others pelvis. He drew pressure upwards once more, being sure to pull forth every drop of 'anxiety' the American had to offer.

Just before he let go, his eyes glanced to Alfred's chest. They had done so for reasons he didn't understand - staring at the large scar his client had been ashamed to show. Something unrecognizable turned in Arthur's stomach. Like lust, but not...He would attempt to quell it by finishing their session appropriately. 'Lovingly'. Alfred would only remain untouched for a moment before feeling a salty droplet dribble over his lips. Arthur's right hand hovered above his face. "Clean the mess you've made of my glove. Own what you've done. Completely."

Alfred opened his mouth somewhat lethargically, he began cleaning the others glove, his tongue darting across the smooth digits. He'd never really... tasted himself... it wasn't a taste he particularly enjoyed. Still, he felt a small twinge in his depleted sex. It was a submissive act. He let his mouth travel all across the surface of the glove, following where ever the salty, thick substance led him.

Arthur's hand would pull away once it had been lapped completely clean. The Brit leaned down and pulled the collar completely from underneath his pet's neck. The device let loose a defeated clink of metal as it was set aside. Vinyl gloves creaked in protest as they were removed one finger at a time. The silken tie encircling Alfred's throat loosened. It was completely undone and gently straightened out. Soft sounds of pulling fabric hinted at its adjustment. Its length was set softly down Alfred's chest before Arthur stood and moved to the door. "Your belongings will be available at the front. Dress. And check out with my secretary."

Alfred could feel his heart slow and steady in his chest, beating "calm, calm." against his ribs. His body felt like jello, more relaxed than he ever had been. He just enjoyed the sensations as he lay motionless on the ground. The accented words washed over him. "Thank you Sir." Alfred's right hand moved up slowly, hesitantly, the tips of his fingers tracing the edge of the blind fold that still rested across his eyes. "Sir...?"

The only hint that Arthur had left was a brief squeak of hinges. Their whine hung in the room as Alfred removed his blindfold. It was as though nothing had happened - as though his Master had been a phantom that had vanished when finished. The same, dull light stained his cell. He would be left to his own devices, regardless of how long it took him to compose himself & dress.

Arthur, on the other hand, felt the need to compose himself immediately. He marched rabidly to his office, brushing aside an employed mistress that had questions regarding a past client. "Not at this moment, Madalyn." He could not afford to be seen in such a weakened state. Blushing, heaving chest, clenched fists. How pathetic. "-I'll be in my chambers. Do not disturb me."

Once isolated, Arthur locked the thick oak door to his office. He rested his back against it and let out a long-kept breath of arousal. He had never felt so unprofessional! His body was aching; growing erect to spite his best efforts. He could not remove the image of his client's scar from his mind. He could hear nothing but the American's pleas echoing in his skull. Arthur had held himself together just long enough...but now found himself pulling at his clothing in an attempt to release his burning skin.

Arthur retreated to his desk, allowing his body to drop into his leather swivel chair like a bag of stones. His vinyl suit had been forced to cling around his ribs and forearms, stretching as stubbornly as it could to remain on his form. The Englishman leaned his head back in his chair, eyes staring dimly at the ceiling. He let out an irritable; almost defeated breath of air while slowly unzipping the front of his outfit further.

He released himself, relieved by the cool air on his groin...but frustrated by the fact that he was erect. The fingers of his right hand wrapped around his phallus with purpose. They stroked - a familiar, ominous rhythm. Arthur closed his eyes and allowed the shallow sensation of masturbation to consume his thoughts. He moved quickly, intent on ending the deed as soon as possible. It wouldn't take long to fiercely expel his bodily need. As he grew closer to climax he clenched his eyes shut, better enabling him to visualize the client that had set him ablaze.

He seized. His entire body tensed - spine protesting. For a moment, his head spun with euphoria. Then-over. Nothing more than a smiley mess in his palm. 'That is all you will be to me,' Arthur thought bitterly. 'Your memory is just a momentary mess; one that I shall wipe easily away and toss in the waste basket.'

Alfred lay on the ground and listen as the other left. Cautiously he lifted the blind fold from his face, the dim purple glow now seeming overly bright to his light starved eyes. He let his arms go limp out from him and just enjoyed the feeling of laying spread eagle on the cool floor. His body felt so... good. Just good. The American felt like a soul falling backing into the weary flesh of himself. Nothing he had ever experienced had felt as good as this.

As his eyes adjusted he gained a better sense of self. He moved sluggishly, his muscles periodically shaking from the remembered sensation of the earlier events. Somehow, without the commanding voice of the other... it seemed so far away. Like a memory already fading, a dream that couldn't have been real. The memories though, they were crisp and sharp in his mind, and the marks on his body would remind him what he had done for a few more days.

Steady hands picked up the comical underwear on the way to the rest of his clothing while he paused to fold the blindfold neatly and set it on the intimidating table. Alfred dressed almost methodically, his usually chaotic, mind for once, calm and collected. He felt better than he had in a long time, like a weight he had grown used to was suddenly taken from him and he could almost float away. He paused for a moment, before grabbing the waiver on the ground, the fine paper slightly crumpled. Rough finger tips traced the paper before folding it neatly and sticking it in his pocket.

Alfred stepped from the room and closed the door behind him quietly before making his way to the front desk. He paid for the service and then left, hardly noticing anything. More than ever, he just wanted to get home and sleep, a strangely comfortable weariness blanketing him as he left the building. Blue eyes glanced back at the unassuming structure and dull fingers fumbled for his phone in his pocket. He'd be back. He knew it. It was a thought carved in stone. He'd had a taste now, and he didn't know how long he'd be able to hold out without this new pain laced drug. Alfred slid his thumb across the display of his mobile and called a taxi.

**Authors note:** Thank you for viewing my smut. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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